"Mr. Kent goes to Gotham" - Chapter 2
Their inhibitions went out the window. Clark held Chloe's face in his hands. And kissed her. Clark Kent would not wait a moment longer. The train was cramped and it was coach, but Clark didn't care. He was with the woman he loved. Chloe gave him a peck on his forehead. "The VIP car is to the front of us," Chloe cooed, "we'll have more space ... to move around and get it on."
Clark woke up. What the hell was that? Drool was spilling down the corner of his mouth. He checked his watch. Two hours had passed. "What happened?"
"You fell asleep soon after we left Smallville," Chloe explained, then nodded at a lunch tray. "It's lunch. Trust me, you didn't miss anything. Pretty intense dream, hmm?"
"I don't know what it was ..." Clark tried to block out any memory of that Harlequin-esque fantasy.
"Lemme guees, you ... Lana ... and your own private Temptation Island?" Why can't I be the girl of his dreams, she wondered.
"What IS this paste?" Clark went off on a tangent – a neat trick he learned from Bruce. Throw off the scent.
"It's supposed to be chicken salad. I doubt it."
Chloe watched Clark poke and prod at the mystery sandwich. He took a bite. She giggled as his expression turned to utter disgust. He seized the chocolate chip cookie and chomped on it. His eyes lit up, as if he just found the fountain of youth.
"Chocolate chip," he mumbled, "Neat-o!"
"Want mine? I don't think I can eat after that sandwich. A girl has to watch what she eats."
Clark looked at her. "You should eat. I'll do the watching."
Three more hours to go, Clark thought, and I'd better not doze off again. Chloe - the 'dream girl version' - may not stop at first base next time.
[Meanwhile, at the Gotham Convention Centre.]
Bruce Wayne, the event sponsor, supervised the final touches to the Excellence in Journalism Conference. Chairs were set up for the lectures. Roundtables arranged for the ID tags, snacks, etc. Three storey banners draped the entranceways.
Then he noticed the signature bald head of a friend/rival.
"Lex, I thought you hated the press. What are you doing here?"
Lex laughed that laugh the monied aristocrats make when they want to cover up a hidden agenda. "Unfortunately, I'm here with Father. Lionel Luthor is a minority shareholder of the Daily Planet. Anyhow I value the media. They help court public opinion for the true leaders of America: the enterprising businessman."
"I'd rather think the press ensures freedom of expression." Bruce wasn't even looking at Lex as he perused a seating plan. He quickly forgot the slight as Metropolis' first citizen marched towards them.
"Lex, arrange a conference call with the board," Lionel Luthor insisted, "Now!"
Lex knew not to irritate his dad when he was flustered and left.
"Why is Wayne Corp. opposing the lumber tariff on the Canadians?" Lionel huffed.
"By hiking the cost of lumber, all that will do is hike the cost of housing for the average American family. The Canucks are on the front lines of Afghanistan as we speak. Surely we can reward them by dropping this silly trade dispute."
"I'll lobby Congress!"
"You do that, Mr. Luthor."
Lionel knew he was getting nowhere. He pasted on his best grin, then marched off again.
"Problem, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, but he didn't need to. Lex may be more accommodating to Bruce; Lionel would not be so cordial.
"Why does he hate my family so much?"
"Ancient history," Alfred shook his head, "Ancient history. Anyway, we have to meet Mr. Kent and Miss Sullivan at Gotham Federal station in half an hour."
Bruce's mood improved. "Let's get going."
[Back on the train ...]
"Please wait for train to come to a complete stop." The train whistle blew. A slight jolt, and the Smallville train had arrived at one of America's great cities.
Chloe squeezed Clark's arm. "We're here, we're here, we're here," she screamed, then did what seemed to be a human version of the Snoopy dance."
Clark didn't want to dance. The chicken salad sandwich was best before today.
"I've got to get a chocolate bar or something," Clark said.
"Can you get me one, too?" Chloe reached into a purse. Suddenly, a man dashed past her, yanking her purse. Chloe fell to the ground.
Clark dropped his bags and chased the thief. Dammit, he swore, it's so crowded in here. No super speed this time. He ran upstairs to the ticket hall.
The thief was at the main entrance. Once on the streets of Gotham, he'd be scot free. SMACK! Bruce swung with his right fist, knocking the wind out of the thief, who managed to still slip by him. Alfred grabbed the thief's arm and twisted it, slamming him against the wall.
"Nice move!" Chloe exclaimed and retrieved her purse.
"After 15 years in the Royal Navy," Alfred shrugged, "I learned a few street-fighting tactics."
"Thanks, guys." Clark finally found them.
"Welcome to Gotham City, such as it is," Bruce muttered.
Their inhibitions went out the window. Clark held Chloe's face in his hands. And kissed her. Clark Kent would not wait a moment longer. The train was cramped and it was coach, but Clark didn't care. He was with the woman he loved. Chloe gave him a peck on his forehead. "The VIP car is to the front of us," Chloe cooed, "we'll have more space ... to move around and get it on."
Clark woke up. What the hell was that? Drool was spilling down the corner of his mouth. He checked his watch. Two hours had passed. "What happened?"
"You fell asleep soon after we left Smallville," Chloe explained, then nodded at a lunch tray. "It's lunch. Trust me, you didn't miss anything. Pretty intense dream, hmm?"
"I don't know what it was ..." Clark tried to block out any memory of that Harlequin-esque fantasy.
"Lemme guees, you ... Lana ... and your own private Temptation Island?" Why can't I be the girl of his dreams, she wondered.
"What IS this paste?" Clark went off on a tangent – a neat trick he learned from Bruce. Throw off the scent.
"It's supposed to be chicken salad. I doubt it."
Chloe watched Clark poke and prod at the mystery sandwich. He took a bite. She giggled as his expression turned to utter disgust. He seized the chocolate chip cookie and chomped on it. His eyes lit up, as if he just found the fountain of youth.
"Chocolate chip," he mumbled, "Neat-o!"
"Want mine? I don't think I can eat after that sandwich. A girl has to watch what she eats."
Clark looked at her. "You should eat. I'll do the watching."
Three more hours to go, Clark thought, and I'd better not doze off again. Chloe - the 'dream girl version' - may not stop at first base next time.
[Meanwhile, at the Gotham Convention Centre.]
Bruce Wayne, the event sponsor, supervised the final touches to the Excellence in Journalism Conference. Chairs were set up for the lectures. Roundtables arranged for the ID tags, snacks, etc. Three storey banners draped the entranceways.
Then he noticed the signature bald head of a friend/rival.
"Lex, I thought you hated the press. What are you doing here?"
Lex laughed that laugh the monied aristocrats make when they want to cover up a hidden agenda. "Unfortunately, I'm here with Father. Lionel Luthor is a minority shareholder of the Daily Planet. Anyhow I value the media. They help court public opinion for the true leaders of America: the enterprising businessman."
"I'd rather think the press ensures freedom of expression." Bruce wasn't even looking at Lex as he perused a seating plan. He quickly forgot the slight as Metropolis' first citizen marched towards them.
"Lex, arrange a conference call with the board," Lionel Luthor insisted, "Now!"
Lex knew not to irritate his dad when he was flustered and left.
"Why is Wayne Corp. opposing the lumber tariff on the Canadians?" Lionel huffed.
"By hiking the cost of lumber, all that will do is hike the cost of housing for the average American family. The Canucks are on the front lines of Afghanistan as we speak. Surely we can reward them by dropping this silly trade dispute."
"I'll lobby Congress!"
"You do that, Mr. Luthor."
Lionel knew he was getting nowhere. He pasted on his best grin, then marched off again.
"Problem, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, but he didn't need to. Lex may be more accommodating to Bruce; Lionel would not be so cordial.
"Why does he hate my family so much?"
"Ancient history," Alfred shook his head, "Ancient history. Anyway, we have to meet Mr. Kent and Miss Sullivan at Gotham Federal station in half an hour."
Bruce's mood improved. "Let's get going."
[Back on the train ...]
"Please wait for train to come to a complete stop." The train whistle blew. A slight jolt, and the Smallville train had arrived at one of America's great cities.
Chloe squeezed Clark's arm. "We're here, we're here, we're here," she screamed, then did what seemed to be a human version of the Snoopy dance."
Clark didn't want to dance. The chicken salad sandwich was best before today.
"I've got to get a chocolate bar or something," Clark said.
"Can you get me one, too?" Chloe reached into a purse. Suddenly, a man dashed past her, yanking her purse. Chloe fell to the ground.
Clark dropped his bags and chased the thief. Dammit, he swore, it's so crowded in here. No super speed this time. He ran upstairs to the ticket hall.
The thief was at the main entrance. Once on the streets of Gotham, he'd be scot free. SMACK! Bruce swung with his right fist, knocking the wind out of the thief, who managed to still slip by him. Alfred grabbed the thief's arm and twisted it, slamming him against the wall.
"Nice move!" Chloe exclaimed and retrieved her purse.
"After 15 years in the Royal Navy," Alfred shrugged, "I learned a few street-fighting tactics."
"Thanks, guys." Clark finally found them.
"Welcome to Gotham City, such as it is," Bruce muttered.